


The Tale of the Crimson Elixir

by LustOnMyFingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe (literally), Angst, College, F/M, Halloween, Modern AU, Romance, Smut, Soulmates, Time Travel, Time slip, Voodoo, Weirwood magic, wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 23:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16464443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/pseuds/LustOnMyFingers
Summary: Finding herself alone on Halloween night following a string of bad luck, Daenerys is chased into a peculiar shop wherein a mysterious witch offers her a magical weirwood potion that sends her back in time to retrieve what she has lost.





	The Tale of the Crimson Elixir

**Author's Note:**

> With Halloween right around the corner, I decided I'd have a little fun with October's Jonerys Month event prompt over on Tumblr - "[Alternate universes](http://iceandfiresource.tumblr.com/post/178395297536/jonerys-monthly-events-october-2018-alternate)" - and of course, take it a bit too seriously.
> 
> I must thank _four_ special ladies for lending their invaluable help: [TheScarletGarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletGarden/), [aliciutza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/), [toaquiprashippar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toaquiprashippar/), and [notpmaHleM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notpmaHleM/), without which this fic would be a sloppy and incomprehensible mess! ♥
> 
> (Fic inspired by the 'Are You Afraid of the Dark' episode entitled '[The Tale of the Carved Stone](https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x43xop1)', as well as Professor M.R. Franks' [marriage of physics, voodoo, and magick](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iG0Zbwgzg90).)
> 
> Submitted for the approval of the Jonerys Society... I call this story _The Tale of the Crimson Elixir_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Though she already knew what time it was, Daenerys couldn't help but peek at her phone again. _I can make it in two minutes_ , she assured herself. She wasn't the type to show up tardy to class, but a string of bad luck had her nearly running late. _Almost there, almost there..._

 

Just as she reached the door, it flew open. Twisting in an effort to dodge it, she lost her balance and fell, her purse skidding across the grass, spraying its contents all over the ground. Disgusted, she watched the culprit scurry away—drawing a hood over his hair.

 

" _Bastard_ ," she spat under her breath, separating the leaves from her belongings as she collected them.

 

Since she was already late, she stopped by the ladies' room to wash the muck from her hands before heading to class. Her stomach knotted with dread as she approached the classroom. Sighing, she held her head high as she entered—just wanting to get this over with so she was free to attend the Halloween party she'd been looking forward to all month.

 

The simple act of walking inside had been enough to halt the lecture—her golden-haired professor wrenched his head to face her, his green eyes narrowing almost in disgust.

 

"Nice of you to join us, Daenerys."

 

A hush fell over the room as she made her way to her seat, doing her best to avoid the gazes that fell upon her, then. _Ugh_. Instead, she focused on the chalkboard once settling in. In giant white letters was a pair of words that were already enough to make her head hurt.

 

_Quantum Superposition_

 

" _As I was saying_ ," the man shook his head in annoyance. "It was described as the most beautiful experiment in all of physics."

 

 _Shoot_. Today was _not_ the day to be late. Hurriedly, she peeked at her neighbor's page number, flipping her own book to match it.

  
' _The Double-Slit Experiment'_

 

"You see," he continued, "By isolating a single electron at the quantum level, scientists were able to discover that, when aimed at two slits, it behaved more like a wave than a particle, in order to pass through _both_ openings simultaneously."

 

_What?_

 

"The electron had somehow accommodated _all_ possible outcomes at once. Mathematically speaking, it passes through one slit, the other, both slits, _and_ neither. And for nearly half a century, now, this experiment has only raised more questions than it has provided answers."

 

The professor stretched his neck as his eyes scanned the body of students before him.

 

"Yes, you in the back?"

 

"What of the electrons in our atoms? Can they divide in this way?"

 

"Well, I suppose it's _theoretically_ possible. But before you get too excited—we're thousands of years away from utilizing this information in a useful way on a technological level."

 

"What about the grandfather paradox? Can it be reconciled with the superposition principle?"

 

"Ah, the _grandfather_ paradox. I suppose it was only a matter of time before one of you asked, wasn't it?" He leaned against his desk, clasping his hands together as if in prayer. "If I could go back in time to kill my own grandfather, preventing my own existence _just_ to avoid answering this question one more time—I would."

 

 _Awful dramatic_ , Daenerys thought as the classroom erupted with laughter.

 

" _Please_ ," the student begged, his voice was thick with grief. The sound made her feel sad and lonely.

 

Their teacher sighed, taking pity on the poor bastard. "Well, there is something called a closed timelike curve, wherein the same universe exists in a superposition of two states simultaneously—for a time."

 

"Meaning...?"

 

"Meaning that within the curve, your grandfather is both dead _and_ alive—as are you."

 

"But _how_ is that possible?"

 

Unfolding his arms, he walked to the chalkboard. "Like _this_ ," he said, dragging a stick of white chalk across it before curving his hand upward, creating one full loop at the center of the otherwise straight line.

 

"Time as we know it moves only _forward_ ," he explained, drawing a right-facing arrow beneath the line. "But this is the superposition." With the chalk, the man encircled the loop, striking its center for emphasis. "A wrinkle in time that allows for two different paths to exist simultaneously."

 

Rubbing her forehead, Daenerys slumped into her desk, feeling utterly lost. Electrons were sometimes particles, and other times waves? Electrons could be in several places and nowhere all at once? It made no sense to her, and already she dreaded the day she'd be quizzed on this material.

 

Before she could fret too hard, though, a sudden scuttle of footfalls caused her to look up, catching only a glimpse of a black blur as it whipped by.

 

" _Give your grandfather my regards!_ " Professor Lannister shouted after him.

 

The classroom descended into another round of laughter at the boy's expense. Just as she turned to glare at them, the fire alarm sounded. The professor shrugged nonchalantly, directing everyone outside. Following suit, Daenerys clapped her hands over her ears until she could escape the terrible sound.

 

While the rest of the students goofed off, Dany plopped onto the grass outside, digging straight into the material. She read through the original variations on this supposed _beautiful experiment_. To her, it sounded like a proper mess. Luckily, this class was just a curiosity for her—a way to challenge her mind rather than waste the elective on something too easy.

 

"Word going around is someone called in a threat to blow up the school."

 

" _Holy shit!_ Seriously?"

 

Dany perked up then, eavesdropping on the pair of students as they walked by.

 

"Apparently _anyone_ caught throwing a party tonight faces expulsion for putting the lives of the students at risk."

 

" _Laaame!_ What'll we do instead?"

 

Finally looking up from her book, Daenerys wondered the same for herself. The few friends she did have unfortunately attended universities far away from home. As a result, she spent the first few years of school wrapped up in her studies, letting her social life grow stale. At this point, it felt a little late in the game to start making new friends, but she had always felt as though there was something magical about Halloween in particular. Stupidly, she thought she might be able to rein it in and use it to her advantage. _Maybe next year_ , she thought, rising to her feet. After all, being orphaned with only an estranged brother to claim as her family—it's not like she was a stranger to loneliness.

 

Her classmates had scattered, even Professor Lannister helped to shoo everyone off campus. One student remained, though, arms folded and leaning against a tree—his face obscured by the hood of his sweatshirt. The moment Dany turned away to tuck the textbook into her bag, she could feel his eyes following her—filling her with a sense of dread and unease. _What a creep_.

 

For lack of anywhere better to go, Daenerys scampered home.

 

.  .  .

 

Deciding against moping around her tiny dorm room alone and making herself feel even more isolated than she was, Daenerys touched up her hair and makeup, instead, before heading downtown for the annual Halloween parade.

 

In the autumn, she would often take to the streets, strewn with dry leaves that crunched underfoot as she walked, the crisp air filtering through her sweater and sending her skirt rippling over her legs. She couldn't get enough of the season. While she loved the summer, it was autumn she could claim as her favorite. And since it didn't last long—she took advantage of those few weeks of relief sandwiched between summer and winter—when fire finally yielded to ice.

 

Weaving through the old cobblestone streets, Daenerys admired the decorations—orange and purple stringed lights and giant spider webs hanging from the windows, carved pumpkins casting festive shadows all along the sidewalks. Little ghosts, dragons, and werewolves popped in and out of businesses with small buckets of candy, growing heavier by the minute.

 

Too quickly this night, the sun slipped into the clouds like a blanket, allowing a darkness to fall prematurely over the city. Rubbing her arms for warmth, Daenerys continued on, noticing the crowd thinning further each corner she rounded. Just as she turned back to take another path to the parade, she spotted what appeared to be the creep from earlier—donning the same hooded sweatshirt that obscured his face.

 

Rather than approach his direction, she continued forward. The same as earlier, she heard soft footsteps fall in line with hers. Panicked, she ducked into a narrow alleyway to escape him.

 

There was a familiar song playing in the distance—the slow staccato of a bluesy saxophone paired with a guttural cackle that seemed as if it were personally taunting her—or perhaps drawing her in.

 

 _♪_ _I put a spell on you_

 

 _Because you're mine_ _♪_

 

After passing through the dark alley, she rounded the corner to find an out-of-the-way shop— _Kinvara's House of Voodoo_. In the window, there were strange oddities on display—crystals and sage, tarot decks and amulets, taxidermy and animal skulls.

 

Of all the times she'd explored downtown, Daenerys couldn't recall ever having seen it. Even outside, the air was thick with myrrh, amber, and patchouli— _dragon's blood_. A scent that slithered straight through her airways and pulled her to the doorway—wide open in invitation. Inside, an unearthly dark-haired woman was swaying and singing along. She was adorned in a red medieval-style gown that stretched to the floor with a garnet choker to match.

 

For a moment Daenerys stood in the doorway transfixed as the eerie song came to an end. The woman moved to her record player, turning the volume down as the song began again.

 

"Hello," she greeted, though her back was turned.

 

 _♪_ _I put a spell on you_

 

 _Because you're mine_ _♪_

 

The woman's skirt swished as she whirled around. "Come inside."

 

Daenerys took one last look around before taking the step up and into the strange shop. There was no one around, so far as she could see, no longer had she felt the sensation of eyes upon her. Well—aside from the shopkeeper's.

 

 _And they're red_ , Daenerys gulped as she approached.

 

As if able to peer straight into her mind, the woman provided an answer. "Contacts," she explained with a wink, pointing at the red irises before extending her hand for a shake. "I'm Kinvara," she introduced herself, the name even more beautiful in a Volantene accent.

 

After examining the black talons she had for nails, Dany gave her hand a reluctant shake. "Daenerys."

 

"Are you spending Halloween alone?"

 

"Is it so obvious?"

 

Kinvara tilted her head as if to peer around the girl, "Unless you've got a friend waiting outside..."

 

"No," she shivered. "Just me."

 

"What can I help you with this evening, Daenerys?"

 

 _A place to hide_ , she thought. "I'm... not sure, to be honest. Though I do like the incense."

 

"Dragon's blood... for the blood of the dragon," she purred.

 

Daenerys was of Valyrian descent, though it was a rather antiquated phrase she hadn't heard much since she was a child. It was a cheap gimmick, she knew, but the tactic had worked.

 

"I'll take a box."

 

Kinvara clapped, rushing behind the counter to the register to ring her up.

 

"That'll be ten dollars."

 

 _Ten dollars? Steep_ , Dany thought, rummaging through her bag in search of a credit card. It was more than she wanted to spend on something she might never use, though it was a small price to pay for temporary refuge from whoever had been following her.

 

"Oh," the woman's smile faded. "Cash only."

 

Sighing, Daenerys tucked the card back into her wallet before opening it, revealing all she had was a five dollar bill.

 

"Did I say ten? I meant five," she winked.

 

After handing the bill over, Dany slipped the small box into her bag, "Thanks," she said, heading toward the door. But Kinvara had already returned to swaying along to the eerie song, absently waving to the girl as she made her way outside.

 

Leaning against a brick wall just across the street, her stalker had returned. He remained wreathed in shadows—the light from the street lamps never quite reaching his face. As the blood turned to ice in her veins, Daenerys shivered, slowly backing away and straight into the shop once more.

 

"Back again so soon?" Kinvara laughed.

 

The sound made her jump, consequently knocking over a small display of only postcards, _thank the gods_ , rather than any number of unique relics that served as the showroom's decor.

 

" _Great going, Dany_ ," she scolded herself for her clumsiness.

 

"Dany?"

 

"Just a nickname," she replied as the woman bent to help her with the mess.

 

As they finished placing the cards back into the display, Kinvara locked eyes with her.

 

"Do you believe in magic, Dany?"

 

Unable to help herself from laughing, she shook her head. "Not really."

 

"Not even on Halloween?"

 

"If you're trying to sell me something else, I'm afraid I haven't got any more cash on me."

 

Rising to her feet, Kinvara floated to the door, twisting the lock shut. Daenerys couldn't tell which was worse—being trapped _in_ or _outside_ of the shop—but at least a door separated her from the stalker, now.

 

"Come on," she said, taking Daenerys by the hand and helping her up before leading her through a beaded curtain at the back of the store.

 

After Kinvara gestured toward the empty stool beside what appeared to be an apothecary table, Daenerys felt she had no choice but to take a seat. The woman rummaged through several of her drawers before pulling out a bag of dried red leaves—ones that hadn't looked much different from the ones falling from the trees outside.

 

Curiously, Daenerys watched Kinvara as she ground the leaves into dust inside of a mortar. Next, she took a handful of seeds from a container at the table's edge, working the mixture into a fine powder with the pestle. After adding a dark honey-like substance to the concoction, she thinned it with water. From one of the drawers, she retrieved an empty glass bottle, carefully pouring the red liquid inside.

 

"With this elixir," she began, presenting it to Daenerys, "You possess the ability to transcend the limits of this temporal plane."

 

"I'm sorry," she chuckled. "But _what?_ "

 

"When you drink this tonight-"

 

"I'm _not_ drinking that."

 

"You _must_ ," Kinvara insisted.

 

"No way! I don't even know what's in it!"

 

"The leaves, seeds, and sap of a weirwood tree," she promised. "It's safe."

 

"Anyone can get those ingredients," she rolled her eyes. "They're not magic."

 

Kinvara sighed, pausing to find the right combination of words to convince the stubborn girl before her. "Thousands of years ago, there lived those who could harness the power of the weirwood to peer into the past, present, and future."

 

"Greenseers," she replied—she knew the fables well.

 

"Some say that with the aid of the trees, the most powerful greenseers could leave their bodies behind and travel, untethered, through the ages."

 

Daenerys only scoffed.

 

"However, Halloween happens to be the one night a year the souls of the dead can freely roam," she whispered, her mouth quirking at the corner. "The one night a year that the ink once thought dry can be _rewritten_. Those with magical blood can access the same gateways, suspend themselves for a time—body and soul—unnoticed."

 

"And what, I possess this... magical blood?"

 

"The blood of the dragon, remember?"

 

Deciding to humor her, Daenerys pushed back. "Why should I suspend my _body and soul_ in this—gateway? For what purpose?"

 

"To find what you have lost."

 

"You're telling me that there's something I've lost and must _rewrite history_ to retrieve?"

 

"Everyone is what they are and where they are for a reason," she cryptically said. "Except you."

 

"Me?" Daenerys frowned. "How many patrons have you given this speech to? How many times a night do you recite this?"

 

"Just once. Several years ago."

 

"I told you I don't have any cash on me. Even if I wanted it, I can't pay for it."

 

"It's on the house."

 

"But why?"

 

Kinvara only smiled. "When you drink this," she said, pausing briefly for a protest that never came. "It is vital that you recite an ancient Valyrian spell."

 

" _Valyrian?_ Shouldn't it be the Old Tongue or something?"

 

"Blood of the dragon, remember?"

 

"All right," Daenerys relented. _I can't believe I'm considering this_ , she inwardly groaned. "What's the spell, then?"

 

"Ñuhor līr gūrēnna."

 

Before she could even ask for clarification, Kinvara began inscribing the phrase on a small bit of parchment, practicing pronunciation with Daenerys until she got it right.

 

"Once you say the words, you will be shown the way."

 

"That's it? No further instruction?"

 

"The hour grows late, Daenerys," she raised a brow, intently staring at her with glinting garnet eyes. "You have until midnight."

 

_What am I, Cinderella?_

 

Kinvara led them back to the front of the store, unlocking the door and propping it open. Pulling her phone from her pocket, Daenerys checked the time. It was only six thirty, though the clouds had since snuffed the sun, leaving the sky black as night.

 

Once outside, she noticed the alleyway was empty. The strange man who had been trailing her was nowhere to be seen. She felt no eyes on her, no unseen presence lurking about. Now more than ever, she felt utterly alone.

 

.  .  .

 

Safely back in her dorm room, Daenerys took off her boots and shrugged out of her sweater, leaving it in a heap on her floor. Her skin prickled suddenly, the hairs along her arms standing on end—after today, she was quickly developing an unhealthy paranoia. Before even turning on a light, she strode to the window, peering out into the darkness. The street lamps hadn't yet adjusted to the time changes, so she couldn't see much.

 

Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her, but she thought she saw a dark figure moving across the lawn, partially obscured by the trees. _Was it him? Had he found her?_ Shivering, Daenerys double-checked to make sure the windows were locked. She left the light off, so as not to be spied on.

 

The time was now seven o'clock. This meant she had just five hours now to 'find' whatever it was she'd 'lost'. Dany couldn't help but laugh, now that she was in her room alone and surrounded by such ordinary things. Such as the mounted mirror, set in a pale white weirwood frame. Stepping forward, she noticed something that had escaped her attention the past few years—a carving at the top right corner. Letting her fingertip dip into the divots, she traced each letter—J.S.

 

 _It's now or never_ , she thought. _Stop stalling_.

 

After retrieving the bottle from her purse, she uncorked it. Without even giving it a proper whiff, she put the glass to her lips and downed the elixir in just a few gulps.

 

It was bitter, _far_ too bitter. The potion made her grimace in disgust.

 

"Seven hells!" she cursed, dropping the empty bottle, which bounced from the carpet, striking the bottom of the full-length mirror.

 

With a numb tongue, she stammered through the spell, unsure whether she'd even pronounced it correctly.

 

" _Ñuhor_ **_..._ ** _līr gūrēnna_..."

 

Immediately, the glass turned black as pitch, seeming to ripple like water as she suffered through the bitterness, wondering whether it was real or the result of the tears in her eyes from the awful taste.

 

After another moment of agony, a shudder swept through her body from head to toe. The taste turned sweet and hot on her tongue—and for a moment, it tasted like everything and nothing at all until it dwindled into the familiar burn of spices—perhaps cinnamon or pepper, maybe both.

 

She reached out to tap the glass with her finger—her reflection coiling in waves before her. And when it finally stilled, it was not herself she saw, but a man. Standing in _her_ room.

 

Instinctively, she glanced over her shoulder. But she was still alone.

 

Standing a bit taller than she, he mimicked her _every_ movement—as if he _was_ her reflection. His hands drifted to the nest of dark curls framing his face when she touched her hair, and then down to the dusting of scruff at his jaw. Together, they touched their mouths, his fingertip leaving a smear of red across his plump lips. Their eyes widened, and for a moment she wondered whether she had actually turned _into_ this man.

 

Daenerys scratched her face then, feeling only her smooth skin as she watched his fingernails rake through his stubble. His dark eyes remained locked on hers, an eyebrow lifting in amusement as he ran his hands over his chest as her own hands traveled over the curve of her breasts—the motion making the pair of them laugh. _Did she do that, or did he?_ When he winked at her, her own eye closed of its own volition, a twitch beyond her control.

 

_What in the hells?_

 

But before she could properly process what she saw before her, there came a knock at her window.

 

She jerked around to see what caused the noise. Pressed to the glass were a pair of fists belonging to the same shadowy figure that had been following her all day.

 

With a gasp, she took a step back, reaching for the phone on her desk to call for help. But instead of her phone, she felt an _arm_. And before she knew it, she was stumbling backward.

 

"I've got you."

 

It was the man in the mirror who had caught her fall.

 

"Get off of me!" she screamed.

 

"It's all right." His voice was soft but gruff as he reached out to help steady her.

 

"I said don't touch me!"

 

Recoiling, Dany did a backward crawl away from him until she struck the foot of her bed.

 

"You're _him_ , aren't you?"

 

"Who?"

 

She pointed to the window. "The one that has been following me all night!"

 

He scratched his head. "I haven't left my room since nightfall."

 

"Then how do you explain breaking into _my_ room?"

 

" _Your_ room?" his face twisted in irritation. " _You're_ the intruder, here."

 

"This is _my_ room," she insisted. "If you don't leave I'm going to call the police."

 

His laughter was downright mocking, and she wouldn't stand for it.

 

"Get," she hissed. " _Out_."

 

Stepping toward her desk, he rifled through her personal belongings. _How dare he!_ From them, he retrieved a picture frame she had never seen before. Bending a knee before her, he placed it in her hands and glared, "If this is _your_ room, why do you have a framed photo with _me_ in it?"

 

She quickly inspected the photo. Indeed, he was in it—along with another boy about his age, two girls, and two younger boys.

 

"And those?" He pointed toward the bookshelf—where there were more framed photos of his family and friends. Further, all of her historical fiction and romance novels had been replaced with sci-fi, fantasy, and comic books.

 

" _No_ ," she shook her head. "It can't be."

 

"Now," he said, rising to his feet and ignoring her mutterings. "Why don't you tell me who _you_ are and how in seven hells you appeared out of thin air."

 

Dany couldn't help but laugh. How could she begin to answer such a question? _Oh, I simply ran into a witch who gave me a potion to transcend space and time..._

 

However, when she shifted into a more comfortable position on the floor, her hand knocked against a glass. She looked down to confirm it was nearly identical to the one she'd received from Kinvara. Even the label was the same— _Inamortentia_. She confirmed it with a quick glance at his mouth—the reddish tint along the inner part of his lips gave him away.

 

Lifting the bottle, she shook it in his direction. " _This_. This is how."

 

"That doesn't explain who you are."

 

"You first."

 

He leaned against her desk— _his_ desk, folding his arms. "My name is Jon."

 

"So, _Jon_ , how do you explain your residence in the _girl's_ dormitory, then?"

 

" _Girls?_ It's co-ed."

 

"I don't think so. It's been all-girls for at _least_ four years..."

 

As soon as the words left her lips, her mind wandered back to Kinvara. She had confessed to giving someone else the same sales pitch _several years ago_. Years...?

 

"Jon," she mumbled his name, her eyes darting to the corner of the very same mirror she fell through—pointing to the freshly carved initials in the upper right corner. "You're J.S. _The_ J.S."

 

He flushed. "And you are?"

 

"Dany," she sighed. "My name's Dany."

 

"So, Dany," he began, chewing at his bottom lip. "How did the red witch convince you to drink it?"

 

"To find what I have lost."

 

"And what exactly did you lose?"

 

She pressed her hand to her forehead in disbelief, chuckling, "Would you believe me if I told you I didn't have a clue?"

 

Grasping his jaw, he pondered a moment. "Maybe we're supposed to help each other?"

 

"Why, did she tell you something like that, too?"

 

"Yes." His mouth quirked up at the corners in a way that raised her suspicion, "Something like that."

 

"What time is it?"

 

Jon retrieved a phone from his pocket. "Quarter after seven."

 

Her eyes flitted to the device—the same make as hers, just a different model. One from years ago—about five she guessed, the evidence mounting. Pushing the air from her lungs, Dany decided against telling him she was from the future. For now.

 

"I have until midnight."

 

"What happens after midnight?"

 

"That's a question I probably should've asked the witch, huh?"

 

"Eh," he shrugged. "She'd have just spoken in more riddles."

 

"You're probably right about that."

 

Stepping forward, Jon extended his hand to help her to her feet. Just inches from his face now, Dany couldn't help her eyes from roving over his every flawless feature. When her gaze drifted down to his lips, the corner of his mouth curved into a sudden half-smile.

 

"Shall we begin?" he asked. "The search, that is."

 

Poking a foot forward, she wiggled her toes. "I haven't got any shoes."

 

"All right, _Cinderella_ ," he laughed. "Wait here. I'll be back."

 

Jon practically sprinted to the door, leaving Dany alone to pace her room. _His_ room. Aside from him, her mind went blank—perhaps as a side-effect of the elixir or maybe her brain had short-circuited, unable to grasp the new reality she'd quite literally fallen into.

 

After only a moment or two, Jon returned, his hand pinching a pair of boots together at their collars.

 

"Your glass slippers, princess."

 

He set them on the ground beside his bed before moving toward his dresser.

 

"Where did you find these?"

 

"Oh. They're Val's."

 

"Val?" she asked, plopping onto his bed before raising her hands to catch the ball of socks he tossed her way. "Is she your... girlfriend?"

 

"Not yet."

 

The pair of words struck her with the force of a slap.

 

It had been all of five minutes that they'd known each other, but already, her heart ached to hear it. _Of course_ there was a girl he was already interested in—he was the most beautiful person she had probably ever seen. Girls would claw each other's eyes out for a chance to be his. _Myself included_ , she groaned to herself as she tugged the boots over his too-large socks. And in a matter of hours, she'd presumably return to her own time. He was too young for her, anyway.

 

"Thank you for the shoes," she said, her tongue dry and reluctant, now. "Maybe I should go alone."

 

"What? _Why?_ "

 

His expression contorted with panic then, pairing well with the twinge of jealousy that lingered since his admission about the girl whose boots she now wore.

 

"It's Halloween. Don't you have plans?" _With Val?_ she wanted to ask but refrained.

 

Jon curled a lip at that. "No."

 

After slipping his keys and wallet in his pocket alongside his phone, Jon extended his hand to Dany, tugging the suddenly sluggish girl back to her feet. He grabbed a hooded sweatshirt from the back of his chair.

 

"It's cold," he smiled. The ridiculous twinge still lingered, knotted tightly in her chest as he pulled the dark garment over her shoulders.

 

"What's wrong? Did something happen while I was gone?" he asked, his dark eyes boring into her. It didn't help the sensation at all.

 

 _You can't have him_ , she reminded herself.

 

"No. Nothing's wrong."

 

Locking his door behind them, he gestured for Dany to lead.

 

"You sure? Your whole mood shifted."

 

"I just don't want to intrude."

 

"Says the intruder..."

 

" _Shut up_ ," she couldn't help but laugh.

 

Jon chuckled along with her, his laugh every bit as sweet as his smile. There was something familiar about him that put her at ease, some that seemed to cancel out that festering feeling of loneliness that always seemed to trail her.

 

"Where are we headed, anyway?" he asked after a moment.

 

"To where it all began."

 

The night was not unlike the one she'd traveled from, the chill in the air nipping at her skin with an all-new vigor. Seeking warmth, she drew the hood over her hair before burrowing further into Jon's sweatshirt, wishing she'd gotten acquainted with his smell while in his arms, instead.

 

_What has gotten into me?_

 

Regrettably, the pair hadn't done much talking as they made their way toward the peculiar destination. Jon seemed to absorb his surroundings the same way she had—eyes wide with awe and grinning at every costumed child who passed them. It was impossible not to steal peeks of him in those moments—his smile transforming his whole face—lifting his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his coal-dark eyes.

 

"What?" he asked, catching her in the act.

 

"You have a nice smile."

 

"So do you."

 

The three words—that under any other circumstance would sound like music to her ears—knocked the grin right off of her face.

 

"Sorry," he stammered. Before she could rectify the awkward exchange, he pointed toward the alleyway ahead. "Almost there."

 

The experience was different this time. With Jon beside her, she felt safe slipping down the dark passage, catching another whiff of him as they squeezed tighter to remain walking side by side. He smelled like leather and spice, cinnamon and pepper- reminiscent of the same taste that still lingered on her tongue.

 

Dany's worst fear was confirmed when they emerged, finally reaching the House of Voodoo—only to find it dark and quiet. There was no sign of life anywhere near it, not even a single passerby.

 

Jon frowned. "What now?"

 

Dany knocked on the door, unwilling to give up just yet. They waited a moment for an answer that never came—the only sound she could hear was the rustling of the wind.

 

"Damn it," she groaned, slumping against the door. She could feel Jon's gaze on her, feel him readying a question.

 

"Dany?"

 

Reluctantly, she met his eyes—his expression impossible to read while shrouded in shadows.

 

"How did you end up here?"

 

"What?" she laughed. "You escorted me..."

 

"I meant the first time."

 

"I was walking around downtown when someone started following me. I ducked into this shop to hide and, _well_ , the rest is history," she sighed. "Why? What about you?"

 

"I wanted to buy some last minute props for a Halloween party in our dorm."

 

She groaned, "So you _did_ have plans."

 

"Right up until someone called in a bomb threat to the school, anyway. All parties were immediately canceled—so I stayed in."

 

"Wow," she exhaled sharply. "That happened to me, too."

 

"Well, yeah. We attend the same school, don't we?"

 

"...Right."

 

What might've otherwise embarrassed her—the rumble of an involuntary stomach growl, loud enough to carry to Jon's ears—acted as the perfect distraction from her secret.

 

"You're hungry?"

 

"...No."

 

"Your stomach says differently."

 

Another gurgle came from her belly, lending Jon a smugness she didn't appreciate.

 

"Let's get you some food."

 

"Unfortunately, my purse didn't travel with me."

 

"I'll rephrase that," he smiled. "Let me buy you dinner."

 

Placing a hand over her stomach, she was gripped with a sudden fear. "What if it rots?"

 

Jon drew his eyebrows together in confusion, considering the strange question.

 

"Because you're from the future."

 

Her eyes widened. "You knew?"

 

"I figured," he admitted. "How else could we share the same room?"

 

"Good point."

 

"How old are you, anyway?"

 

"Twenty-three. You?"

 

"Nineteen."

 

He wasn't too young for her—not _really_. That meant there was an age-appropriate version of him wandering around in her time. _Probably still dating Val_ , she reminded herself.

 

"Don't like that answer, do you?" he guessed.

 

It was then Dany could feel the inadvertent grimace on her face—something that tended to happen when she had gotten lost in thought.

 

"I was just working out how old you'd be in my time."

 

"You'll have to clarify—I still don't know _when_ you're from, exactly."

 

"You're a year older than I am, apparently."

 

"So I'm twenty-four where you're from?"

 

She nodded.

 

It was Jon's turn to grimace as he considered, now. "That means..."

 

"What?" she asked, unable to take the suspense of even mere seconds. "What does it mean?"

 

"Nothing," he spat, making a concerted effort to wrestle the frown from his face.

 

Offering his arm, Jon led them out of the alley. His reluctance then had piqued her curiosity, but she didn't know him well enough to pry anything out of him—and their time together was limited. They might as well enjoy it.

 

.  .  .

 

"Maybe _that_ was what I lost," she joked, patting her belly upon finishing her meal.

 

Jon managed to pick a place that had regrettably gone out of business in her time—Honeyholt. It was among her favorite places to eat in years prior, offering cuisine from The Reach, as well as seasonal fare.

 

"Really? Sweet pumpkin soup?" he laughed. "Do you suppose your sole mission is to go back in time and save this place from going under?"

 

"Shhh," she hushed him. "Not so loud."

 

"It is sad to think about, though," he lowered his voice, his eyes following their waiter. "Everyone working here has a different job in five years."

 

Dany sighed.

 

"When did it close?"

 

"Honestly? I don't even remember."

 

"That's even sadder. It was one of your favorite places."

 

"A lot happens in five years time. You'll see."

 

A melancholy washed over Jon, then. She made an attempt to follow his eyes, but they remained fixed on something that wasn't actually there.

 

"Jon?"

 

He shook his head, snapping out of it. "Tell me about that bomb threat."

 

"What?"

 

"You said it canceled your Halloween plans, too, and that's how you ended up at the shop tonight."

 

" _Right_ ," she said. "Well, I was in class just before it happened."

 

"What class?"

 

"Concepts in Physics."

 

"Damn, bet that's a tough one."

 

She laughed, "It's an elective, actually, explained as simply as possible _without_ the burden of mathematics. Lots of stuff about particles and paradoxes and... phenomena."

 

"Phenomena? That sounds familiar."

 

"It's strange. Today it was even sort of about time travel—would you believe it?"

 

"After tonight? Yeah, I would," he laughed. "Tell me more."

 

"Someone asked about... the grandfather paradox, I think it was called."

 

"What's that?"

 

"When you go back in time to kill your grandfather but prevent your own birth in doing so."

 

"My brain already hurts."

 

"Mine did, too. Unfortunately, I was late to class this morning, so I missed the beginning of the lecture."

 

"Why were you late?"

 

She quirked a brow, "Why does that matter?"

 

"Just curious."

 

"Some asshole knocked me over," she shrugged, stacking their empty plates and pushing them to the edge of the table. "It was either leave my things in the grass and make it to class on time, or pick them up and do the walk of shame."

 

"I see," he said, nibbling at his bottom lip. "Well, what do you remember of the lecture? Anything?"

 

"I couldn't begin to explain the _how_ of any of it—but I think he said theoretically, there is a way to kill your grandfather and live. That it is possible for two conflicting realities to exist in a... closed loop. Or was it a curve?" she stopped to scratch her chin.

 

He perked up. "How does that work, exactly?"

 

" _Hmm_ ," she tugged at the memory of a lesson that clearly hadn't stuck. "Something about electrons dividing to accommodate for both outcomes."

 

As his gaze fell, she knew she must've bored him to tears. This wasn't what she wanted to spend their precious time together discussing. She wanted to go back to hearing about his life—more about his dog Ghost, more of the uncle that had been more like a father to him growing up, more of his siblings, especially Arya. The more she heard of his life, the more tangible he had felt to her.

 

"Anyway," she sighed. "The fire alarm went off shortly thereafter. I didn't even have the chance to ask for clarification. I'd be lying if I said I understood it. I'm sorry."

 

To her surprise, Jon smiled. "Didn't happen to mention any of this in relation to, _say_ , magic weirwood potions, did he?"

 

"If he had, he'd probably be out of a job," Dany laughed. "Though Kinvara seems to be doing well enough."

 

"Better than this place, at least," he said under his breath.

 

"Stop that," she pleaded, nudging his hand with hers.

 

Just as the waiter dropped the bill at the edge of their table, Jon jerked his hand away from hers, as if repulsed by her touch.

 

"Thank you," he mumbled in their direction, his face twisted in a sudden scowl. Without another word, he palmed the check, scuttling off to the register to pay it, leaving Dany alone to wonder what it was she'd said that had upset him.

 

.  .  .

 

The thing Dany liked best about Jon was the very same thing that drove her crazy. He was withdrawn, but not in a cold or distant way. Every time he went quiet she could almost hear the gears in his mind turning. Perhaps she could easily endure his periods of contemplative silence had she not been on a time limit, but tonight she was selfish. She had to be—because she wanted more of him. _So much more_. As much as she could possibly squeeze from the couple of hours that remained, now.

 

For just a bit longer, she watched _him_ rather than the small precession of Halloween-themed floats as they passed slowly over the cobblestone—wondering how far away he'd gone from that moment there with her.

 

Dany pulled her legs onto the bench and wrapped her skirt around them—the chill making her skin itchy. "What are you thinking?" she asked, drawing him back in.

 

"That you should wear seasonally appropriate clothes," he smirked, eyeing her legs as she rubbed her palms over them for warmth.

 

"No," she whined. "You were much too distracted to be thinking about something as simple as my _legs_."

 

Immediately, he tore his gaze away, a sudden blush coloring his cheeks.

 

"We should get you out of the cold, Dany. You aren't even paying attention to the parade."

 

"How can you tell?"

 

"Because I'm sitting right next to you."

 

"But you seem so far away."

 

"I'm right here," he insisted, the hand upon his thigh inching toward hers before abruptly pulling away.

 

_Damn it._

 

"Tell me what you were _actually_ thinking."

 

Sighing, his eyes drifted to hers. "That by sitting stationary here, we're doing a terrible job at locating whatever it is you've _lost_. Remember?"

 

In truth, she had forgotten all about the witch's cryptic instruction by now—forgotten all about using this opportunity to re-write history. _Whatever that meant_. Being in Jon's presence seemed to make the rest of the world fall away. With him, it didn't feel like anything was missing at all.

 

"I'm trying to think of ideas on what it could be but everything I come up with seems so..."

 

"What?"

 

He hesitated, worrying his bottom lip the same way he did whenever those gears started to turn.

 

"Tell me," she leaned in to poke at his side.

 

Just as he tried to bat her hand away, she grabbed his, running a thumb over his knuckles.

 

"... _shallow_ ," he finally said, giving her a squeeze back.

 

With a sharp exhale, Jon stood, using the contact to help yank her from the bench. Unfolding her legs, she complied, feeling another tight knot in her chest as he let go of her hand once she was back on her feet.

 

"Let's head back to our room."

 

Jon followed closely behind Dany as she led the way through the crowd gathered on the sidewalk. Families were huddled together for warmth, watching with awe the synchronized march of mummies and vampires that introduced the next float—upon which was a smoking cauldron stirred by a trio of witches. Rather than appreciate the spectacle, she could feel Jon's gaze upon her.

 

Just as they managed to escape the bulk of the gathering, a familiar tune began resonating from the kitschy display.

 

 _♪_ _I put a spell on you_

 

 _'Cause you're mine_ _♪_

 

This time it was a woman crooning in contralto over orchestral jazz; slow and a touch somber—the tone an appropriate echo of how Dany felt at the prospect of returning to her own time, alone.

 

"Wait up," Jon called from behind her.

 

Just as she turned, he grabbed hold of her hand, his fingers slithering between hers as another hand slipped beneath the borrowed sweatshirt to grab hold of her waist.

 

She had to stop herself from asking what he was up to—conceding that whatever his intention, so long as it involved his touching her—she wanted it. Pulling her body closer, he began swaying from side to side.

 

After falling into a comfortable enough rhythm, she met his gaze curiously.

 

"Cinderella deserves at least one dance before the clock strikes twelve."

 

"Does that make you Prince Charming, then?"

 

"We'll see," he said, his tone as solemn as the song, smothering the joviality of the spontaneous dance in an instant.

 

It was then her mind wandered to the fairy tale, pondering it a bit too seriously—particularly while wearing a pair of boots that were just a bit too big for her, turning her movements clumsy. _Val_. The girl Jon intended to make his—the one whose foot already fit the proverbial glass slipper.

 

She had to know where they stood. Whether she was a curiosity or something more.

 

"What happens when I go back?"

 

"Don't ask _me—_ you're the one who can tell the future."

 

"I'm serious," she frowned. "Will you come find me?"

 

His gaze fell from hers, his smile dimming.

 

"You mustn't," she realized. "I have no memory of it—of _you_." Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she croaked, "That must mean you don't bother."

 

They kept dancing through the awkward silence that followed. It wasn't as if Jon could deny it, or comfort Dany, who had been upset with him for a decision he'll never make. She half-expected her passive-aggressive tone to have swayed him, waiting for memories of him to trickle into her mind at any moment.

 

"What if I die?" he whispered, jostling her from her thoughts.

 

It was as if the soup really _had_ turned to rot in her stomach. She felt downright ill at the thought. "That's not funny."

 

"I'm sorry," he frowned. "I know that's morbid. It's just... I can't imagine another reason why I wouldn't."

 

"You can't?"

 

He shook his head.

 

"Maybe you blew me off," he teased, but his voice was thick with grief.

 

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. Even if he approached her with the worst pick-up line she could imagine, his smile alone would be enough to grant him a second chance, at the very least. If not a dozen.

 

"Maybe you're happy with _Val_."

 

His gaze narrowed slightly at the comment, brows furrowing in consideration. Whatever conclusion he'd come to thereafter had made his eyes double in size. What she expected next was either an awkward confrontation or perhaps an accusation of jealousy. Instead, his head tilted, a soft gaze roaming over her face as if calculating something. Her eyes drifted to his lips, hanging there, bewitched.

 

 _♪_ _And I don't care if you don't want me_

 

 _I'm yours right now_ _♪_

 

Dizzied, her vision blurred as he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. Their bodies halted, drawn together as if caught in a snare. She exhaled through her nose with a shuddering whimper. Lifting both hands, she cupped his jaw, pulling him in closer as she hummed against him.

 

Just as she tried coaxing his mouth open with her tongue, he broke away—his chest heaving with each breath. There was only a brief pang of rejection before she realized how many children were still flitting about the parade, breaking the spell.

 

While his behavior became decorous in an instant, his gaze remained anything but.

 

"Let's get out of here."

 

.  .  .

 

Just as Jon went to switch the light on, Dany caught his wrist.

 

"No," she insisted. "Leave it off."

 

When he tore his gaze from hers, she followed it to the digital clock on the desk.

 

Eleven-thirty.

 

Even just holding his hand, she could feel him tense up. She wasn't ready, either. Whatever this was between them had just begun and already the end was in plain sight—in a cruel display of glowing red numbers.

 

The room was quiet. So quiet, all she could really hear besides her rapidly-beating heart had been his shallow, nervous breaths. Pressing Jon against the door, she stole from him several kisses—prioritizing the ache she felt for him.

 

After tucking the curls behind his ear, her lips followed the line of his jaw. "Make love to me, Jon," she begged, her voice every bit as desperate as she felt.

 

The breath hitched in his throat as she kissed him there, his pulse as quick as hers just under his skin.

 

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

 

She answered with her hands, moving to the hem of his shirt in an attempt to strip him of it. Abruptly, he locked her wrists in place.

 

"I'm serious, Dany. You don't remember me, and I don't know what that means. For me or for you," he gulped. "For _us_."

 

Her hands retreated, traveling upward to cup his face. She hooked his gaze with her own. "I can't imagine spending our last moments together any other way—even if that means this is both the first and last time."

 

A tear fell over his cheek and down the ridge of each finger as she held his face. He quickly wiped the others away, nodding in agreement just before she stole another quick kiss.

 

"We've got about thirty minutes left," she reminded him.

 

"Thirty minutes isn't _nearly_ long enough to make love to you to the way I want to."

 

His lips trembled, his eyes still swimming in tears, just like her own.

 

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't at least try," she winked—the same way he'd done to her in the mirror.

 

And it made him laugh. _His beautiful laugh._ It brought on another sharp pang in her chest as if mourning the loss of it prematurely.

 

Wasting no more time, Jon pushed the sweatshirt from her shoulders as it fell to the floor around her feet. She kicked off the stranger's boots, stepping on either toe of the borrowed socks to tug them off, leaving her barefoot on the soft carpet.

 

It was his turn next to shed his sweater. Dany let a chuckle slip, appreciating the way the static electricity made his hair stand straight up as she pulled it over his head.

 

"Think that's funny, do you?"

 

Biting her lip, she nodded, shyly wrapping her arms around his neck. Rather than kiss her, he lifted her up. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, letting him carry her to her bed _—his_ bed. Their bed.

 

As he set her on the edge of the mattress, he slipped his hands under her hair to untie her dress, the fabric pooling around her waist. Topless, she fell backward, letting her hands roam over his chest as he climbed on top of her. His hair tickled her face as he hovered, finally granting her a proper taste of his mouth.

 

There were few things she wouldn't give to stay in this moment—touching his body to her heart's content, feeling his every breath as it caressed her nose and lips. Already, she was drunk with dizziness, as each time she stubbornly chose more of his mouth over the cry of her lungs, desperate for more air. She liked the taste of him better.

 

But the clock had other plans, and so did Jon. In his retreat, he took her dress along with him, the pair chuckling as she clumsily lifted her bottom so he could pull it off completely. He stood over her, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips as he took in the sight of her—half-naked and vulnerable and waiting. In only a few swift motions, he'd removed his pants, leaving them behind as he rejoined her on the bed.

 

Dany opened her legs to accommodate him as he slipped between them. What little fabric still clung to their bodies had done nothing to hide his arousal as he moved against her. As she peeled his socks off with her toes, he broke their kiss to laugh—the beautiful sound enough to give her another painful twinge that swept from head to toe.

 

"Don't get sad on me."

 

"Too late," she said, feeling the unavoidable sting of more invasive tears.

 

Jon kissed them away, his mouth's journey beginning at her cheek, detouring to nip at her earlobe. He dipped into her neck, following the curve of her collarbone to her breasts, sparing enough time to taste as much of each as he could before the clock urged him to roam further, his tongue following a path down to the divot of her navel. Her belly bumped his nose time and again as she panted—unsure how much more she could bear of such teasing.

 

So lost in the moment, she could scarcely recall when or how he managed to work her out of her underwear, but they were gone. And in their place—his mouth and nose. Her panting only grew worse as he first took small tastes of her, gauging her reaction. Pushing a thigh up, he wrapped his arm around it, caressing her stomach as he kissed between her legs—bathing his tongue in her arousal until she was crying his name. Even his hand came to a rest on her belly as he focused all of his attention on her clit. Near instantly, she unfolded into throes of delirium.

 

When she couldn't take it anymore, she tugged at his hair, urging him upward. While he tried to move into position to penetrate her, she pushed him to her side, lumbering awkwardly over him, fighting with her limbs for their cooperation. He was already naked, buying her a few seconds longer to enjoy his body's topography—acquainting her lips with the smooth panes of his chest, the raised muscles along his abdomen, the ridge of his hip. She knew she didn't have long to dawdle, either—she had to taste him.

 

Pushing his legs apart, she transitioned onto her knees between them. She watched his stomach rise and fall in quick succession as she gathered her hair into one of her fists before leaning forward, using only her mouth. She first laved over his testicles, slowly following the path up to the head of his cock as it jerked. Using the involuntary twitch to her advantage, she curved her tongue around the tip to bring it between her lips. Slowly, she sucked, bobbing her head while splaying her fingers over the pale canvas of his skin. Jon allowed himself a few moments of bliss before stopping her with a groan of disappointment.

 

With another swift glance at the clock, she rubbed another round of tears from her eyes after confirming they had about ten minutes remaining. Jon pulled her up by her arms before flipping her onto her back. They joined in another desperate kiss, both pairs of hands fumbling below to get him inside of her as quickly as possible.

 

Just as he began to stretch her, she lifted herself to meet the thrust, driving every last inch deep within her in an instant. In a desperate bid to smother her self with him, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, locking him in place. Their movements followed no rhyme or reason, hands and mouths roving over one another in whatever fashion they could manage as he plunged inside of her again and again.

 

Clenching her eyes shut to avoid all temptation to peek at the time, Dany rode him as hard as she could from underneath, keeping her mouth latched onto his as his climax drew nearer, his cries muffled each time their mouths clashed together. Jon was right—it wasn't enough time. It wasn't enough _anything_. But it was all they had.

 

After another few moments, his body seized, all of his muscles pulling taut under his skin. He pulled out just in time to redirect the mess onto the bed instead of her. She felt utterly empty in his retreat—both physically and emotionally. _So much for the afterglow_.

 

Upon sitting up, she retrieved her clothes from the floor, pulling her underwear on first just as Jon did, his. Next, she slipped the dress over her head. Immediately, he held his hands out in assistance, tying the straps at the back of her neck.

 

"It's almost time."

 

"Not yet," he stubbornly shook his head.

 

Inappropriately, she laughed, hot tears stinging her eyes. "I can't believe this is goodbye for at least five years."

 

" _Hey_ ," he lifted her chin so their eyes met. "Five minutes for _you_ ," he smiled, though unshed tears had collected on his lashes, too, even as he wiped hers away.

 

"Why won't you find me?"

 

Pushing past the lump lodged in her throat, her voice was but a croak—the question exposing the full range of her vulnerability. And like a broken levee, the tears came flooding down her cheeks, unbidden. " _Why?_ "

 

Though she didn't really expect an answer—with trembling lips, he provided one.

 

"Because she isn't _you_."

 

"She will be."

 

" _No_ ," he insisted. "She won't have ever had this night. And that means she'll never be _you_."

 

Pulling Dany into his arms, he nuzzled into her hair, whispering, "It's you I want."

 

She closed her eyes, sniffling as she tried to compose herself. "If time heals all wounds, Jon, your feelings will fade, too. It's inevitable."

 

" _Never_ ," he growled, all but yanking her back to his mouth for another possessive kiss. If she didn't feel as though something was lost to her before—she sure as all hells did, now.

 

Just as she resumed milking from the fleeting moment all she could, there came a faint knock from a direction she couldn't identify. Jon gave a look of protest as she pulled away from his lips to listen.

 

"What is that?"

 

He shrugged, leaning forward to resume, but she stopped him to listen.

 

"It's getting louder..."

 

"I don't hear anything, Dany."

 

Each knock came paired with the rattling of glass, so loud now that it almost hurt her ears—how could he not hear it?

 

When she stood, he gripped her wrist to stop her, "We still have three minutes."

 

Absent-mindedly, she turned toward the mirror, noticing its surface had gone dark, rippling just as it had mere hours ago.

 

When Jon spoke, his voice sounded far away—the rapping drowning him out. "We still have time."

 

"I have to go now."

 

"Please don't," he pleaded, his voice quivering with fear. "Not yet."

 

She took a step back, her fingers slipping from his—she could hardly bear the pain in her head as the cacophonous echo of each knock came swifter than the last—as if banging against her skull directly.

 

" _Please!_ " he shouted, scrambling to reach forward to physically stop her.

 

The last thing she felt was his fingertips grazing hers as she passed through the portal—the pull of it a force she couldn't resist.

 

The moment she was back on the other side, her mind had cleared, finally quieting enough to hear the resonance of his final plea.

 

" _J-Jon_..." she wept his name, knowing he'd never hear her.

 

It was over.

 

He was gone.

 

Her hands slid down the mirror, willing it to turn black, willing it to ripple.

 

But all she saw was her own face through the thick stream of her tears.

 

_What have I done?_

 

She fell to her knees, her body wracking with pitiful sobs as she balled her fists, angrily striking the glass hard enough to actually crack it.

 

" _No, no, no_ ," she pleaded, running a finger over the fracture, wondering if she'd managed to ruin the portal forever. A stupid, split-second decision that only served to unravel her further.

 

"Daenerys!"

 

Stunned, she turned to her window. She couldn't yet see his face, but she knew the voice.

 

It was him.

 

It was Jon.

 

And he was knocking against the glass.

 

In an awkward crawl, she dragged her body toward him, lifting herself up using the windowsill. As quickly as she could, she flipped the lock, pushing it open just in time to see that his features were etched with uncertainty and terror. And in an instant, he disappeared before her eyes like dust in the wind.

 

" _Jon!_ "

 

Against all odds, she had lost him twice in the same night.

 

Before she could break down another time, a sudden languor washed over her.

 

Color bled first from her vision. Under the street lamps, reds and golds fell away from the faint outlines she knew to be trees. The whites turned to greys, and the greys to black. Her awareness faded with her sight and all went quiet. The last sound she heard was her heartbeat, until that, too, disappeared.

 

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.  .  .

 

When Dany opened her eyes, all she could see was blackness.

 

The last thing she could remember was... disappearing. The sensation so strange she mistook it for death. Instead, she was simply on her back in bed, lying face-up in the dark. Her arms felt at least twice as heavy as she tried to lift them, listlessly taking stock of all of her parts to make sure she was still intact.

 

_Was it all a dream?_

 

Before she could consider the possibility, she realized she could still smell him—Jon. The boy she fell in love with and the man she watched disappear in front of her eyes.

 

Instinctively, she craned her neck toward the window.

 

_Of course he's not there, you fool._

 

There was nothing outside her window that she could see, save for crimson leaves dancing upon the wind, the rustling like a whisper in a language she couldn't understand.

 

 _Time heals all wounds_ , her own words rang in her mind, perhaps in an attempt to console herself.

 

_These feelings will fade._

 

_It is inevitable._

 

Pulling her tired body from bed, she stumbled first to her desk, where she retrieved her phone, and then to the window, flipping the lock again and throwing it open. She knew she wouldn't find him there, but her heart compelled her to check, anyway. The cold air relieved the salty burn of her tears. Through bleary eyes, she checked the time. Eleven fifty-nine.

 

 _I shouldn't have left him,_ she chided herself _. I could've had sixty more seconds..._

 

It was a lapse in judgment she'd live to regret for the rest of her days.

 

Another throe of lamentation had been quickly nipped in the bud, then, as a sharp pain sliced straight through her mind like a hot knife through butter—the sudden pressure in her skull excruciating. Again, her vision bled, leaving both patches of blackness and small bursts of colorful lightning behind her lids. She couldn't see, but she could still _feel—_ the pain, the throbbing, the chill in the air, the nausea as her body faltered, her hands grasping at the window frame for support, the warmth of fingers as they wrapped around her wrist.

 

"I've got you."

 

Another warm hand touched her face, a thumb gliding across her lips. Before she knew it, she was getting kissed back to reality. Upon his tongue, she could taste two tell-tale spices—cinnamon and pepper.

 

When she opened her eyes, she felt a flood of emotions—a flood of... _memories_.

 

Years and years of them.

 

She had to pull away from him in an attempt to process what had happened to her.

 

"Don't cry," he urged, and she could hear the frown in his voice. His now deeper voice.

 

Standing outside her window, he'd reappeared in perfect clarity. Just as she suspected, he was older now. It came, somehow, as both a surprise and no shock at all. After all, she'd watched it happen first-hand. It was like her mind had split in two.

 

She had fallen for Jon twice.

 

Once at the age of twenty-three and _again_ at the age of eighteen.

 

They shared two first dates. Two first kisses. Two first nights together.

 

_How?_

 

She couldn't help the laughter that followed as she rifled through her new memories—or, her _old_ memories—what were they, anyway? _Just memories_ , she told herself. _Ten years crammed into just five_.

 

"You found me," she breathed.

 

Grabbing Jon's wrists, she stepped backward, helping him climb through the open window. The moment his feet were flat on the ground, she tugged down his hood to get a good look at his face, twisting her fingers in his hair to make sure he was real.

 

"It worked, I can't believe it worked." Likewise, he reached for her head, smoothing his hands over her hair as he begged, "Tell me how we met."

 

"Which time?"

 

"Both times."

 

"You were there the day I moved in—offering to carry all of my heaviest boxes. I was impressed, I admit," She paused to chuckle, "And you pointed to your initials carved in my mirror—J.S., and _gods_ , that terrible line that followed... what was it, again?"

 

" _Please_ don't make me say it again," he cringed. "The first time was tough enough."

 

"You pointed to the mirror and said," she paused to giggle, " _Do you believe in signs?_ "

 

"Don't do it, Dany," he laughed along with her, raising his brows in warning. "Don't you dare finish it..."

 

" _Are my initials enough, or should I_ sign _my full name?_ "

 

" _Ugh_." Their foreheads clinked together as he groaned.

 

"I always thought it was a coincidence—I never knew you lived here, too."

 

"I tried to wait for you," he confessed. "I made it until semester's end—but I knew exactly where to find her— _you—_ and I couldn't resist."

 

Daenerys stole a quick glance of the weirwood frame—now further vandalized with two pairs of initials encased in a lopsided heart—J.S. + D.T. The mirror was intact, too, the crack she'd made seemingly left behind in another time that never came to be.

 

"Speaking of the mirror," she continued between kisses, "That's the other time. The reflection... the potion... Val's boots..."

 

"Val," he chuckled against her lips. "I haven't thought about her in years."

 

" _Good_."

 

Pulling back to study her scowl, he grinned with satisfaction. "Are you _still_ jealous of her?"

 

"Of course I am. It's only been five minutes."

 

He chuckled, taking her face in his hands before letting a stream of kisses flow over her skin, thoroughly dousing her in his affection.

 

"Jon," she breathed, dizzy from the high of someone who's just fallen in love blended with the carefully constructed foundation of a long-term relationship. "You see me every day. What is all the fuss about?"

 

"The fuss is that I missed you, _Cinderella_."

 

Part of her had always wondered why he called her that—assuming it had something to do with her long, silver-blonde hair.

 

Now she knew.

 

She had to experience it to know.

 

"You were right, _Prince Charming_. I wasn't her—not yet."

 

Distracted, she glanced around the room as he planted kiss after kiss all over her face. The room looked much better in this reality—what with having so much physical evidence of their lasting union. On the fridge was a magnet featuring Honeyholt's logo—inside it, a stack of styrofoam containers full of leftovers. Among them—sweet pumpkin soup. Jon kept kissing through her relieved and amused chuckles. _The restaurant never closed after all_.

 

Her shelves were home to as many of his things as hers. She viewed Jon's strange book collection in an all-new light, now—topics ranging from scientific to paranormal; a weird mixture of voodoo and witchcraft and physics, of both quantum and theoretical varieties. Before now, she never knew what he'd been up to every time he buried himself within the pages—simply assuming his tastes to be eclectic and his mind curious.

 

With his help, she'd found what it was she had lost—herself, and this life she was meant to be a part of. Someday, she'd ask him how he managed to reconcile such a paradox, but today was not that day.

 

After tucking the curls behind his ear, her lips followed the line of his jaw—a trip her mouth had taken hundreds of times before; a trip she longed to take a few thousand times more. "Make love to me, Jon," she urged, her voice every bit as hopeful as she felt.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ñuhor līr gūrēnna = I will take what is mine
> 
> The song playing in the shop was I Put a Spell on You by [Screamin' Jay Hawkins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PwXai-sgM-s) and the version they danced to was by [Nina Simone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4lvQFwsugU).
> 
> How did Jon do it? Weirwood Voodoo! Let's just assume Dany gave him enough information to figure it out by the time he stepped back in time, himself, to retrieve her.
> 
> Also, I know. Blah blah exposition, blah blah plot holes. Unfortunately that is the nature of time travel and sometimes you're working in rigid time limits to spin a story of impossible magic. I could've separated them for five years to make it more logical, but Jon's been through enough pain, hasn't he? I wanted a happier ending. *shrug*
> 
> Lastly - for everyone wondering why the FUCK I'd write another godsdamned one-shot rather than work on my multi-chapters, let's just say I had a lot less free time to work with this month than I originally planned. The plan was supposed to be pushing out all my updates and THEN this - but life had other plans and there are only two days left of October and shit, y'all know I can't resist a prompt. That said - I have fragments of each chapter written and they will be out as soon as possible. Dating in the Dark is first on the list and nearly finished! Please don't hate me too much... erm.


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